


15

by warsfeil



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warsfeil/pseuds/warsfeil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>15 Malik/Altaïr drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	15

**o.1 ; Kiss**

The first kiss should have been full of hesitation and caution. It should have been careful when it was rough, calm when it was demanding. It was fire and teeth, but it suited them.

The second kiss was desperate. It was long and full of teeth, Altaïr nipping at Malik's lip with all the impatience he always showed in every other aspect of his life.

"Novice," Malik says, but his voice is gruff and full of desire, and he swallows Altaïr's response down into his own mouth for the third kiss. It's distracted but no less needy.

They lose count after that. 

 

**o.2 ; Naked**

Altaïr has never seen Malik like this before. Malik is spread out on the pillows, legs apart and cock hard, and Altaïr can't get enough of the sight, can't drink it in fast enough. There's rays of sunlight coming in through the latticed window, patterns dancing over his skin.

There's not a bandage around what remains of his left arm. Altaïr takes in the sight of the scarred skin and the abrupt _end_ that shouldn't be there. The familiar guilty knot in his stomach mixes with desire.

"Stop looking," Malik interrupts, "and come _here_."

The act, Altaïr learns, is better than the image.

 

**o.3 ; Arch**

Malik has started learning all the secrets of Altaïr's body. He's learned that his neck is sensitive; that Altaïr will tilt his head back when his neck is bitten. His collarbones are something else that Malik enjoys: he'll brush his thumbs along the surface and Altaïr will shiver up into his touch, seeking more.

Malik's favorite secret is that if he thrusts just right-- slow and sweet and gentle, when everything in Altaïr's life is hard and rough and angry-- Altaïr arches up, moaning at the foreign feeling, wordlessly telling Malik all his secrets as his fingers twist in the blanket.

 

**o.4 ; Tremble**

Malik worries when Altaïr trembles in his grasp. His muscles are tight and his voice is quiet, and Malik isn't sure how to read that, so he slows.

"Altaïr," he murmurs, nuzzling against the other man's neck and seeking a response. Altaïr trembles again.

"Keep going."

Malik does, and Altaïr keeps shaking until orgasm rocks his body. Malik strokes him through it, his own harsh breaths matching Altaïr's. 

It isn't until long after they're both cleaned up that he realizes Altaïr shook not from pain, but from the lack of it. Malik softens, and places a kiss to the top of his head.

 

**o.5 ; Bite**

When Altaïr returns from his week-long mission to Damascus, the first thing he does is find Malik and slam him up against the wall. He forces the scrolls from the Dai's hand and hears them hit the floor with a satisfying _thump_ , and he swallows Malik's irritated growl. 

" _Altaïr_ ," Malik growls, when they part. Altaïr only smiles at him, hands roaming down to grasp pointedly at Malik's hips. "You may not have a job to do, but some of us do."

When Altaïr's only response is to lean back in, Malik matches the movement and bites the top of Altaïr's scar.

 

**o.6 ; Warmth**

Altaïr has a habit of stealing the blankets. There's a method to his theft: he'll get cold and steal all the blankets, and then, once he's sufficiently warm, he'll kick them all off himself and onto the floor. 

Malik isn't standing for it tonight. When Altaïr tugs the the blankets away, Malik gives a sharp tug back, causing the other man to go rolling across the bed and onto Malik. He's wide awake by the time he lands, one hand on the side of Malik's head and the other tangled within the blanket.

"If you are so cold, then come _here_."

 

**o.7 ; Rip**

Altaïr was bleeding from the arm, the tear in his robe open and the gash on display. Malik frowned at the wound. It was superficial, but that did nothing to stop the flow of blood, and it was with no small amount of displeasure that he ripped the sleeve the rest of the way off, dabbing the blood away.

"It will be fine--" Altaïr began, before cutting off with a hiss when Malik inspected the wound with his fingers instead of his eyes. 

"Be silent," Malik responded, "and I will take your mind off of it."

Altaïr's hissing rapidly turned into moaning.

 

**o.8 ; Ice**

Every part of Malik was _hot_. He felt like he was on fire, heat shooting through every nerve in his body. It was hard to think or talk or do much of anything but moan senselessly, shamelessly. 

He shifted his hips up, hand nearly slipping off of Altaïr's shoulder at the new burst of pleasure the new angle brought on.

Altaïr leaned up to flick a tongue against Malik's nipple, dragging the ice cube in his mouth across the peak.

"A--" Malik began, and couldn't manage anything else, nails digging in as he struggled to stay upright on Altaïr's lap.

Another cold lick.

" _Altaïr!_ "

 

**o.9 ; Blind**

Even after all these years, in the darkness behind the fabric over his eyes, Altaïr couldn't relax. He was still expecting revenge; still expecting anger when there was only tenderness.

Malik ghosted kisses up Altaïr's side, listening to the pattern of the other man's breathing. Altaïr tangled his hands up in Malik's hair. 

"Malik, I'm sorry, I--"

He was silenced with a kiss.

"Be silent," Malik commanded, sitting up to drag his fingers up Altaïr's thigh. "There is no one here to apologize to."

When Altaïr came, he came with a scream. Neither of them commented on the way the blindfold came away wet.

 

**o.10 ; Couldn't**

Malik twisted in Altaïr's grasp, two arms supporting him when one could not. One around his waist, one around his neck into the back of his hair as Altaïr leaned him back against the desk. Malik's hand was pulling Altaïr's head back by his hair, biting hungrily at the skin exposed there. 

Altaïr held onto him as Malik shook his own robe off, slid his hand up to loosen all the ties on Altaïr's outfit. By the time they hit the desk, Malik's legs were helping brace him.

Malik could support himself alone, but with Altaïr there, it was effortless.

 

**o.11 ; Restraint**

There was nothing wrong with restraints. They'd determined that ages ago. Altaïr was that much more reckless in bed, if his hands were restrained, and Malik was hardly going to complain about _that_.

The downside, of course, came the first time Altaïr tried to restrain _Malik_ with the leather strip they usually used. You couldn't bind one arm as easily as two. They experimented with it bound to the bed, but he nearly fell off; tying it to his neck only resulted in accidental asphyxiation. 

Finally, Malik flipped them over. "I don't mind," he said, nipping Altaïr's collarbone, "if you don't."

 

**o.12 ; Repose**

There was something deeply beautiful about the way Altaïr's eyelashes fluttered whenever he was on the brink. Malik would leave him there, hand moving slower and hips thrusting shallow, just to watch Altaïr. His eyes would be closed, his mouth would be open, and Malik loved seeing him like that more than simple words could convey.

Altaïr tried to figure out what it was that displayed how close he was; tried not to curl his toes or break off moaning Malik's name. It didn't help. When he pressed Malik about it, his response was a smile and a quiet: "You're beautiful."

 

**o.13 ; Wake**

Waking up to the sun streaming bright in your face was one of the more irritating parts of morning. Waking up to the sun in your face because a naked man just rolled the blanket away from the window was even worse.

"Malik," Altaïr began, cranky and tired. He'd gotten back all of four hours ago. He was hardly ready to get back to his duties already.

Waking up to the sun blinding your eyes and your lover on his knees before you, tongue dancing across your cock, made up for any other failings the morning could have had, Altaïr decided.

 

**o.14 ; Strain**

It was a constant battle between the two of them. Occasionally, they could take things slowly, gently, but it didn't suit either of them. Sex was battle and a rivalry just like everything else was, and they enjoyed it thoroughly. Altaïr managed to push Malik away for the third time, the one-armed Assassin falling into a roll and lashing out at Altaïr's legs. Altaïr tumbled, catching himself hard on his elbow as it slammed into Malik's stomach. The momentary delay was all he needed to triumphantly straddle Malik's chest, hood hiding all but his smirk.

"I win."

Malik pulled him down. 

 

**o.15 ; Use**

Altaïr was nothing if not creative. Renovating the design of the hidden blade, restructuring the Order-- it all pointed to a man that was as intelligent as he was dedicated. Who had a new idea. Involving the roof gardens.

"No," Malik told him bluntly, the first time he brought it up. "That's not what they're for."

"No one looks in them. It can be a new use."

"It's hardly safe."

Altaïr laughed. "And being an Assassin is?"

"Hm."

It was worth it, to hear Malik choking down a moan, sure that any noise would alert the guards to their presence-- which wasn't stopping Altaïr. At all.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts nabbed from the centi_porn community back on ye olde LJ.


End file.
